Watching my grandmother comb her hair every morning after her shower was like watching a small ceremony. She would emerge from a hot steamy bathroom, her hair wet and slippery like a black snake draped over her betowelled shoulders. In reverent silence, She would glide towards the terrace with myself close at her heels carrying [...]

Like me, my grandfather used to go by a nom de plume. He called himself Khan sahib Giraftaar: The captured. He was into student politics. He was loud and unapologetic.  He once got socked in the mouth by a policeman at a pep rally against the Raj. He laughed; blood and spit bubbling in the corner [...]